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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23212552">The Answer</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eager_Question/pseuds/Eager_Question'>Eager_Question</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DC - Fandom, DCU, DCU (Comics), The Question (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:01:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>997</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23212552</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eager_Question/pseuds/Eager_Question</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of how Renee Montoya became The Question, only on a much smaller scale.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Vic Sage &amp; Renee Montoya (Platonic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Answer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Being told you’re going to die soon is a little like those dreams where you’re walking up the stairs, and for some reason you overestimated the number of steps by one, so you lose your balance and you fall. Then you keep falling, because apparently you were walking up the stairs into some sort of void. At which point you wake up kind of startled, and become angry that it’s so very early, and you should go to sleep again, but you can’t, because a part of you doesn’t trust sleep anymore. </p><p>Sleep lied to you. </p><p>Sleep lies to us all. </p><p>Vic Sage's mind circled around, as one's does in those late hours of the night, when he sat on the bench by the bus stop outside the hospital. </p><p>One year. Two if he was lucky. The doctor had been adamant not to expect that, with his chart. He said that if God himself descended from the heavens, he would look at the tumours and go “wow, that's a tough one, Dr. Gertz”. </p><p>Mr. Sage didn't believe in any “real” gods, but he didn't find the idea as funny as Dr. Gertz had. While he explained how to minimize the pain, and maximize mobility for the next several months, all he could think of was that dream of falling down that void after the stairs. He had miscalculated. It felt as if he had been given a project, and told he had maybe eighty years to complete it, give or take. Then, once he was halfway through, management had been replaced, and now he had only one. </p><p>Forty-one years of life. He tried to think of all the people who lived less and made do. To be grateful he had at least lived this long. It didn't make him feel any better. </p><p>The bus let out a screech as it stopped before him. He showed the driver his bus pass and slumped in one of the dozens of empty seats. He had the bus all to himself, with the exception of an old woman in the front, clutching a small box as if it held a million dollars.</p><p>Curiosity got the better of him. </p><p>“What's in the box?” he asked her. </p><p>“A videogame box,” she said with a smile. “My granddaughter loves them, and today is her birthday.” </p><p>A “videogame box”. He wondered why he had even asked the question. </p><p>“Ah,” he said, by way of signalling that he had his answer now, and they could go back to riding in silence. But she had been eagerly awaiting human contact for the last several hours, and would not give up so easily. </p><p>“Were you visiting someone? At the hospital, I mean.” </p><p>He shook his head. “No, just getting some results.” </p><p>“All good, I hope,” the woman said, turning to face him. They were in a conversation now. </p><p>“Nope.”</p><p>“Well, you know, God works in mysterious ways.” </p><p>“If those ways are indistinguishable from chance, does that actually help?” Sage asked, thinking back to Dr. Gertz’ joke. </p><p>The old woman frowned, failing to understand. “Of course it helps, young man. It makes people feel better, when the time comes.” </p><p>He nodded. A comfortable lie. Perhaps he had underestimated the old lady. She smiled. </p><p>“You are old,” he said, and she laughed. “What do you think of dying?” </p><p>“Well, it will happen when it happens, I suppose.” </p><p>“And you're not scared. Because of religion?” </p><p>She shrugged. “I've lived a good life,” she said. “I have a family I love. I think that makes it okay.”</p><p>“But… you'll still be dead. Fairly soon at that.”</p><p>“You know, a wise man once said ‘a man is not dead until his name is no longer spoken’.”</p><p>“...He's still dead, though. He doesn't know if his name is not spoken. He doesn't know anything. He's dead.” </p><p>“Well, yes,” she said. “But that's not the point, dear. The point is that you live on in the people around you. Even if it's all just… nothing, at the end. You live on in their hearts. In their thoughts.” </p><p>“But you're still dead,” he said, frowning. </p><p>She shrugged. “I suppose it will just take time for you to understand.” </p><p>After a moment of silence, the bus stopped. </p><p>“Have a nice day,” the woman said, carrying the box carefully </p><p>“You too,” he managed, before she stepped out. He could see her family had had the luck (or real-estate savvy) to have a home almost exactly beside the bus stop, at a corner. Children ran all over the yard, and bright balloons marked their location. As the bus rode on, he saw the woman get nearly tackled by a twelve-year-old girl with deep black hair who had no regard for the “videogame box”. </p><p>Mr. Sage had never wanted children. Seeing them run around screaming, a part of him cringed at the noise, and the cleanup, and the general renown children have (even among those who love them) as self-destructive little mess machines. As the bus turned another corner, and the woman and her granddaughter vanished from view, he wondered what made it all worth it. What utility she gained from the whole affair. </p><p>The rest of the ride was thankfully very quiet. </p><p>Unlike the woman's child--or perhaps child-in-law-- Sage had not snatched one of the more convenient locations for Hub City's terribly designed transit system. His apartment was a good six blocks, and five floors up from the nearest bus stop. It was in a more urban, less suburban area, and thusly far more littered with the occasional drug addict or homeless person. </p><p>For the fourth time that week, a panhandler begged him for money, and for the first time that week, he gave him some.  Who gives a shit about savings when they won't need to be there in ten years?</p><p>As always, he walked up the stairs, for health reasons. He wondered idly if walking up more stairs, he'd get an extra few minutes of life.</p>
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